For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Colleen Coleman

  At 6 a.m., a claxon sounds for the first call of Hell Raisers. I make my lonely way over to the Gates of Hell, a precarious arch made of dented, rusty oil barrels.

  ‘Lily! Lily, we’re here!’ Christopher jumps up and gives me a wave. I spot all the others there too, Mark, Amy, Dylan and Jasmine. Every single one is kitted out and waving their hellos. The relief is like an adrenalin shot and suddenly, I can’t wait to get over there, to join them and get to grips with whatever it is we’ve committed to.

  I jump up and wave back and start running properly to where they are, unable to stop grinning despite the cold wind in my face. Yes! I just knew they wouldn’t let me down! Even this may be bearable if we take this on as a team and I’ve got Christopher by my side.

  Music starts blasting from the speakers, all the other Lycra lunatics flock towards the entrance, pumped and raring to go. I pick up my pace to a proper run, in order not to lose sight of my team in the crowds.

  I can tell they are excited, even Amy is stretching and smiling and taking selfies, so I figure it’s best to paste on my best smile too and suck it up, take one for the team as it were. After all, they are doing this for me, for us, to help me write the feature that will hopefully keep us in our jobs. This is their day off and they’ve sacrificed their time and sanity to show up here with little clue how mutilated we may be by the end. So I slide off my sunglasses and I find a smile of gratitude. Because whatever happens, we’re in this together and we won’t be abandoning each other or leaving anyone behind. Who knows, we may even be able to look back at this in time and laugh… I’m guessing not for a long time, but it’s possible. If we get that twenty-two per cent, then anything is possible. I steal a glance at Christopher as he concentrates on setting his watch. This is the first time I’ve seen him out of work-wear. Even at the skydive, he wore a shirt and trousers. But today he looks completely different. There’s no two ways about it, he is hot. Strong, tanned, athletic. His tight redrash vest shows off every ripple in his arms and chest. I can’t even bring myself to be caught checking out his legs in those cycling shorts. He is gorgeous. Even in this hell hole, he looks like he belongs on a film set.

  ‘Welcome Hell Raisers!’ a deep disembodied male voice booms through the loud speakers. A hush descends. ‘To survive, you must conquer all the elements thrown at you, whether that is the temperamental weather conditions, the gruelling natural environment or the torturous man-made obstacles. Or maybe you’ve come to battle your own demons… mwah-aha-ha-ha… So, are you ready to give it some Hell? If you’re ready to give it some Hell, then let me hear you say HELL YEAH!’

  ‘HELL YEAH!!!’ the crowd answers, yelling, surging and waving fists in the air. Buoyed by the fact that my team have shown up and the sight of Christopher in his kit, I run on the spot and start warming up in earnest, joining in with the battle cry at the top of my lungs. All of us do the same. I think it means we’ve now made some kind of pact with the other lunatics. Why not? We’re here now; we may as well give it everything we’ve got.

  The mega-phone starts up again. ‘Well then, put your hand on your heart and hear me out: As a Hell Raiser – I am here to do my best. Only I know what my best is. I am not here to judge or be judged but to participate and have fun. I support my fellow Hell Raisers at all times. Teamwork and compassion before my course time; I do not whinge, because I am a bad-ass. When I fall, I get back up and I don’t look back.’

  Everyone is smiling now. Psyching themselves up, patting each other on the back. There’s no doubt that you really get a sense of being a part of something. Even I’ve got butterflies. Even though I’m not sure whether that’s excitement or nerves.

  Mark hands us each a GoPro to strap around our heads. ‘We’re going to add some video footage to the feature this time. See if it increases reach. And the craft beer guys want to record the moment we take that first sip at the end.’

  This is the first I’ve heard of this. Probably on purpose. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, as they say. But I can’t pretend that I’m particularly keen on having the world potentially witness my epic failure. Now there’s not just going to be pictures but videos with full sound and movement. And the video camera doesn’t lie! It’ll spill the whole ugly truth. I won’t be able to write up that it was amazing, scenic and fun and that I found it a breeze and I enjoyed every second because people will see me swear and fall and God forbid, maybe even bawl like a baby! But what choice do I have but to go along with it now? It’s too late to object to filming if Mark’s already sealed the deal with the beer people.

  ‘Fine. But no filming my ass,’ I say. ‘I don’t want footage of me from behind.’

  ‘I don’t mind which way you film me,’ says Amy, giving Mark a wink.

  Even in this extreme cold, Mark’s cheeks flare red. It’s hilarious. I have never seen him lost for words before and it works wonders for team morale as we all stifle giggles and look into the distance.

  But the moment of hilarity is short-lived as the second and final claxon sounds, meaning it’s nearly time to start. Jasmine, Dylan, Amy, Mark, Christopher and me huddle, GoPros touching in the middle.

  ‘Everyone okay?’ Christopher asks.

  We nod.

  ‘Then let’s do this.’

  * * *

  The first challenge is called Hell and High Water – one team member piggybacks the other through the mud. Relatively easy, you’d think, especially because Jasmine has jumped on Dylan’s back, Amy on to Mark, but that leaves me with Christopher.

  I try to warn him. ‘I’m much heavier than I look. Cheese does that… And chocolate also plays a part. Have you got any history of slipped discs or lower back pain?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘You will,’ I tell him.

  But, unfazed, he squats down. ‘You’re not heavy. You’re perfect, so just shut up and climb on. Hurry up, because I don’t like losing.’

  Perfect. I heard that right? Or do I have mud in my ears already. I try to think of other words that rhyme with perfect that I may have misheard. But I can’t think of any. So maybe that’s what he actually said. And, for a split second, I understand exactly how Mr Clark must have felt when he first saw those lottery numbers come up. And then he checked them. And then he checked them again and then he promptly passed out. Because, some things are beyond your wildest expectations. Even if you do buy a ticket. Even if you do harbour little dreams of ‘what if’.

  Perfect. Wow. That’s certainly beyond my wildest expectation.

  He nudges me and I realise I’ve been daydreaming. Jasmine, Dylan, Mark and Amy are already nearly out the other side! So I do as I’m told, climbing on top of him and wrapping my legs around his waist. And then we are off, cheek-deep in beetle-infested icy brown water.

  He is impressively strong. Not just because he can hold my body weight without grunting or turning purple or keeling over, but because we speed past some of the other teams, even the ones carrying lighter-looking people than me, which makes me feel fantastic, so I start to whoop and shout and feel like this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe the whole thing will be like this, suitable challenges for the fitties and shortcuts for the slackers like me. Good. I like it when things turn out that way.

  By the time we reach the other side, we’re completely drenched with mud and unspecified sloppy dirt and I’m thrilled because it’s actually keeping me warm. Well, less cold. We gather as a team, buoyed by our initial success in completing the first stage and steering ourselves towards the second. Maybe it is much easier than it looks after all!

  But, of course, it isn’t. The next half hour is much tougher. We belly-crawl under barbed wire, we climb up vertical walls while trying to hang on to wet rope. We jump through huge tractor tyres while being power-hosed with even more icy water. But we stick together. Despite being the clumsiest team by far. Every time there’s an opportunity to fall from a beam or trip over a mere rock, Dylan and I are on the ground.

  From 3k on, I
am cursing Christopher. It’s not normal to have to work this hard just to save your job! Surely, with his genius, he could come up with a better, safer and more comfortable way to make the paper succeed, right? And I’m really freezing. No doubt this is going to bring on a cold, if not pneumonia. And I hate this GoPro. I’m doing a lot of unladylike coughing, hocking and – how do I put this – projectile nose-blowing sans tissue as the mud and sludge keeps going up my nostrils. Poor Dylan got an eyeful of my mucky behaviour at one point. No doubt his GoPro got an eyeful of it as well. There’s nowhere to hide with those bloody things. Maybe it would have been better for them to film my ass after all, at least that way they wouldn’t be able to see my face smeared in all sorts of mucky nastiness.

  Two hours in, we enter Hell Fire, also known as Sniper Alley, which says it all really and again confirms that whoever came up with this event is a total masochist. Pellets shoot at you from every angle. And, unfortunately for me, Jasmine and Amy, who are in front of me, keep stopping and screaming instead of ducking and running. Every time they do this, I ram into them and get shot in the ass. I am now the proud owner of around eight raised welts on my left bum cheek. But I don’t cry, and I don’t stop. Mostly because I want this to end as soon as possible. I’m actually quite proud of the way I absorbed those shots though. They’re my ‘medals’. Proof that I’ve suffered for my art.

  Despite the welts, and the mud, and the screaming, the best bit of this whole thing is doing it as a team, laughing as we watch each other fall over and slip up and slide backwards and help each other back up again. I couldn’t do this alone and it wouldn’t be nearly as rewarding as helping and being helped by your fellow team Hell Raisers and also by complete strangers. I love the way everyone rallies around and lifts each other up just out of kindness, pushing, pulling and propelling us forwards. They may all be burly lunatics, but they’re big-hearted, generous lunatics and it feels like we’re all one big lunatic family, which isn’t so far from what I’m used to. If I wasn’t here doing this, I would be home alone with Chaplin and wouldn’t get to experience this camaraderie that is only possible from being in a do or die situation like this, together.

  I huff and puff up the rocky hill trail and, suddenly, I see a sign reading that we are approaching the 5K mark. Does that mean the finish line is in sight? That it’s all over and we really made it? That we survived? The elation I feel is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I scramble to the hilltop, only to learn that we’re nowhere near done. I should have known that was just a way to distract us from the fresh hell around the corner.

  We enter Hell’s Bells.

  It is the coldest, dirtiest swim of my life. Both my calf muscles seize up and my brain forgets everything it’s ever learned, including, briefly, how to breathe. After the first crossing of the river to ring a bell, I stand to the side shivering. I’m supposed to do two more crossings but I’ve reached my limit. I accept that I’m beaten. I don’t need to do everything. What I’ve done is more than sufficient to write the article. This is a challenge and I have challenged myself. The rest is just vanity and unnecessary risk.

  I watch the rest of my team complete the three crossings before Christopher pulls himself out of the water and runs towards me.

  ‘What’s up? Are you all right? I can swim it with you if that’s easier?’

  And I suddenly think to myself, Amy and Jasmine are also first-timers and they’re pushing themselves to do this, so, as Editor in Chief, I can’t be the only one to quit. It’s bad form. It’s a poor example. It’s selfish.

  I take a deep breath and straighten up.

  ‘Just cramp. I’m okay, I’m in,’ I tell him, and we slip in from the bank together.

  I manage to swim across and back, ring the bell to the sound of their supportive cheers and, although it is truly horrible, I am ecstatic that I did it.

  And then, with my team around me, I lead them off to the next challenge, determined to show them that I can do this. We turn a sharp corner and, unbelievably, we are at the last hurdle! Somehow along the way, I forgot that this hell would finally end! I’m delighted. We’ve nearly done it! This is the last thing in the way of me and that beer and then complete and unrestricted comfort for the rest of my days. From now on, I’ll probably opt to live in Uggs and all my outdoor clothes will now also be made of fleece. I start fantasising about a roaring fireplace and hot chocolates and cushions and fresh linen and soft, dry hair and not having sharp pebbles in my squelching trainers, but before any of that can come true, there’s the not-so-small matter of Half-Pipe to Hell. A wall that looks like a huge wooden tsunami wave. The idea being you run at it and then somehow run up it far enough so someone on the top can grab your hand and pull you up. Mark’s already up there, having made the ascent whilst I dreamt about food and warmth. Christopher is limbering up, Dylan and Jasmine are talking strategy and Amy has taken off her T-shirt and ripped it in two to use as a rope.

  Even if I start running at it from a mile away, I know I have no chance of surmounting that wall. Um, gravity, people? So I just decide to go for it anyway. Why not? It’s the last hurdle and everything else has gone okay so I’m feeling fairly confident that I can tick this one off too and call it a day. Even if I merely attempt this final one, it means I’ve tried everything and I can hold my head high when I cross that finish line knowing I’m not a quitter. I’ll be a proper Hell Raiser!

  I wait for a clearing and then propel myself forward at my fastest speed. I scramble up to about halfway, then feel the grab of hands on my back and bum as I receive a twelve-man boost to push me up the final few feet.

  I reach out my hand and Mark extends both his hands and his full strength to pull me up. But he is actually too strong, as he hoists me up and then loses his balance as he over-reaches, at the same moment as the twelve-strong team behind me disband and fall away and we both barrel back down the wall. Headfirst, I hurtle towards the ground at a very sharp angle, twisting out my elbow to take the brunt of the impact. Unfortunately, the impact is more impactful than I expect, and it crushes me. Not physically, but mentally. I break my Hell Raiser promise to not be a crybaby and I cry out, in a colourful rainbow of expletives. Mark keeps apologising, Christopher is trying to calm me down, other Hell Raisers look shocked to see me holding my elbow like a broken branch.

  It hurts. It really hurts!

  Amy runs to my aid and understands exactly what I need. To hide. To get out of sight. To not be the humiliating centre of attention. As my arm isn’t working, my hands have been excruciatingly numb for the last 2K and my body feels like it has been passed through the paper-shredder, I limp across the finish line, where a volunteer steward wraps me in two space blankets.

  I start laughing. But it’s a bit manic, even to my ears.

  Amy wraps her arm around me. ‘Let me take you to the ambulance. I think you need someone to look over your arm.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Honestly, I just need to get dressed and—’

  ‘They have hot chocolate,’ she says.

  I hook my good arm into hers as we make a beeline for the ambulance.

  * * *

  I lie down on the stretcher and close my eyes. It feels so good to be lying down, my bones feel like they are defrosting and I’m just so happy to be safe and horizontal.

  Amy sits by my side and explains what happened to a first aider. As I drift to sleep I hear the first aider ask us to wait for the nurse. Lovely, take your time. I just want to lie here. Some extra-strength painkillers and I’ll be blissed out…

  But then I hear a voice that snaps my eyes wide open.

  ‘Elbow injury and possible concussion?’

  A voice that feels like a slap across my face.

  ‘No problem, I’ll take a look right now.’

  I take a deep breath. There’s no mistake. No doubt. And no escape.

  It’s Hannah.

  I’ve known that voice since I was ten years old. The sound of it used to make my heart sing; sleepovers, long ph
one calls, urgent chats over lunch and lazy lunches over wine.

  I open my eyes slowly. She’s kneeling next to me. Her face inches from mine.

  It really is Hannah. So familiar yet so strange.

  ‘Lily, it’s you,’ she says, her voice now small and awkward. Her face reddens and she swallows.

  I look at the ceiling of the ambulance.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Quite the surprise. Right, well, let’s see what we’ve got here. Can I take a look at your arm?’

  I wait a long moment. I don’t want Hannah to be anywhere near me. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I feel so light-headed. Partly the pain in my arm but mainly rage. Pure, unadulterated fury.

  Amy places the back of her hand on my forehead. ‘She’s burning up. Is there anything you can give her?’

  I’m at the mercy of this stranger who used to be my best friend. This woman who ruined my relationship, my wedding day and a subsequent chunk of my life that I’m just now starting to feel is healing. She chose Adam over me, and Adam chose her over me, and my heart was doubly broken because of that.

  And despite all of the obstacles I’ve faced today, this is by far the hardest. This is hell.

  ‘Your arm? Can I take a look?’ she asks again gently, uncertainty in her voice.

  Amy strokes my forehead. ‘Just let her look at it quickly, Lily. Once you get the all-clear we can get out of here. And then I’ll definitely get you that hot chocolate, I promise.’

  I shut my eyes. I can’t lose my rag here in front of Amy. I’m her boss. Everything that happened between me and Hannah happened a lifetime ago and Amy doesn’t need to know about all of that. I try to control my breathing, try to calm myself down. To her this looks like a very straightforward interaction between patient and nurse. I’ve got to keep it that way.